


Conflict of Interest

by Steadfxst



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Drinking, Late Night Conversations, Love Confessions, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 11:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14448210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steadfxst/pseuds/Steadfxst
Summary: Jim feels his face heat, and he can’t maintain eye contact any longer. Ever since he was a kid, compliments embarrassed him, even though he cherished them. He looks at the floor in front of Bob’s desk instead. There’s a moment of silence before Bob speaks up.





	Conflict of Interest

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on June 19, 2017. This work has since been edited and updated. Since I just read and fell in love with Comey's new book--A Higher Loyalty--I thought I'd bring it back.

Jim trusts Bob Mueller with his life. He knows that working for DOJ would mean completely trusting his team, but with Bob Mueller in charge, he could safely say that he had no reservations. Rain or shine, late or early—or super early—Jim would answer when Bob called. It happens to be a super early meeting.

“Then we're in agreement. I won’t let you down.”

Bob nods.

“I know you won't, Jim. You’re a good kid.”

Jim laughs.

“Kid? No one’s called me a ‘kid’ in thirty years.”

“Anyone who can still go about living like life is something wonderful and precious is a kid. And that’s you, Jim. You don’t see things how other people do.”

The sentiment is uncharacteristic, but not unappreciated. Jim blinks.

“Thank you, sir. I—that means a lot to me.”

Jim feels his face heat, and he can’t maintain eye contact any longer. Ever since he was a kid, compliments embarrassed him, even though he cherished them. He looks at the floor in front of Bob’s desk instead. There’s a moment of silence before Bob speaks up.

“You should go home, Jim. It’s been a long day.”

Jim looks up once more.

“Thank you, sir. I want to be fresh for tomorrow.”

The two man stand, and Bob pats Jim’s arm as he walks by him.

“Take care of yourself, son,” Bob says, and Jim feels himself flush with pride.

“Bob?”

Bob stops at the door and turns back. His hand drops off the knob. He tilts his head, asking Jim without words what’s on him mind. He’s been getting so good at reading the FBI  
Director lately.

“I think I love you," Jim blurts.

Bob doesn’t react at all, and Jim suddenly can't read him at all.

Jim continues.

“I know I shouldn’t say it, but I thought you should know.”

It feels like an eternity before Bob answers.

“I know, Jim. It’s alright.”

“I’d never—”

“I know,” Bob repeats.

“I hope we can keep this off the record.”

Bob sighs, walks back to his desk, sits back down in his chair, and unlocks his desk drawer. He pulls out a bottle and two glasses. Jim, assuming the second glass was meant for him, sits back down. He folds his huge frame back into his seat, putting himself level with Bob once more. Bob pours them both a drink.

“I shouldn’t have told you, should I have?”

Bob recaps the bottle.

“Jim, you can tell me anything. I’ve always said that.”

“But I crossed a line.”

Bob doesn’t respond. He takes a drink from his glass instead. It’s answer enough.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Jim. Just drink your drink. You’ll feel better,” Bob says, as though he were instructing a child to take his medicine.

Ever obedient, Jim does. The glass feels tiny in his large hand, and he holds it carefully to his lips.

It’s bitter as it slides down his throat. Jim doesn't like the taste, but he wants to burn this awkward moment from his mind, so he keeps swallowing.

“That’s it,” Bob encourages.

A warm ball of something erupts low in his belly, and his dick twitches in his slacks. Jim finishes it off. He puts the glass down on Bob’s desk with a clink.

“I should go home.”

“That’s probably for the best. Have Frank drive you."

“Okay, Bob.”

Jim stands once more, but Bob stays seated. Jim wishes there was something more he could say, but he’s already stalled long enough. He’s out of the room in three strides,  
leaving Bob alone with his thoughts.

Bob picks up Jim’s empty glass and turns it until the side Jim drank from faces him. Slowly, Bob refills it. He takes a quiet moment for himself before putting his lips to the rim and swallowing the liquid down.


End file.
